


Symphonic

by cridecoeur



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-02
Updated: 2005-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-20 09:39:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cridecoeur/pseuds/cridecoeur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius calls this symphonic as Remus bumps knuckles down his vertebrae</p>
            </blockquote>





	Symphonic

**Author's Note:**

> I don't remember what I read that inspired this. I think something by Kurt Vonnuget. It was like 6 years ago and also the first fan-ish thing I wrote. So of course it was HP. And of course it was Remus/Sirius. What else would it be? Also if I wrote this today, Peter would win the chess game. Just saying.

Red birds sing poetic things outside their window. Poo-tee-weet, short chirps, summer hums, and the staccato drum of wings. (Sirius calls this symphonic as Remus bumps knuckles down his vertebrae). The laughter of young boys crescendoes against velvet curtains (and they are young, always young with soft, rough lips and dancing fingers). They laugh and they move and they are alone–James left a book on his bed and socks on the floor but there are no smelly boy feet in them and no one will be back for hours. (Sirius pinches Remus’ pinky toe and wraps callused fingers around his skinny ankles). Somewhere a clock chimes three, three, three and they make soft sounds in return. (And when Remus has Sirius under him, he runs smoothsoft fingers down the dip of his spine and smiles).

On the foot of the bed, clothes are folded and clothes are flung (Sirius has impatience and eager hands whereas Remus has precision and a pink, laughing mouth). They touch and they taste and they know, mouthing monosyllabic sound down bellies and over shoulder blades. (Sirius jabs two fingers at Remus’ hipbones and slides chapped lips over his ribs). The window shutter bangs one, two, three and they learn cadence and meter and beat. (And Remus’ fingers scatter half-notes, harmonics, sharps, and flats across Sirius’ skin as he trembles). They breathe and pant and moan (molto, cantabile, adagio), trill and scale and step.

(And they are grace notes, quickly played, fading into and out of each other).

When footsteps tap erratic rhythms up the tower stairs, they sprawl (clothes recovered) on Sirius’ bed. (Remus bumps his wrist against Sirius’ shoulder, and they smile at the touch). The door stutters open (hinges clatter after one, two thumps against the jam and really they should replace those or fix that but don’t and won’t) and James and Peter bound in pink-cheeked and laughing.

(They are brilliant, now, because Snivellus won’t ever get his trousers back from the squid and Lily Evans may have said hello).

James digs out a deck of Exploding Snap cards, and Remus trounces Peter in wizard’s chess (the white queen sighs and smacks her lips because really won’t he ever learn and don’t move the bishop there, move him here and oh, no). Sirius sweeps the remainder of a white knight off his left knee and snickers as Peter’s king sets his crown at the black queen’s feet. Only a handful of moves on both sides and really, Peter, what was that?

(That was a loss in eight simple steps).

Somewhere a clock chimes six, six, six, and more (time for supper and James and Peter jump off the bed) and in this moment, the red birds are silent and Remus and Sirius brush fingers and lock eyes. When their friends turn away in a rush to reclaim books and socks and school bags, Sirius leans close and whispers “Poo-tee-weet?” and neither James nor Peter understands why Remus is flushed and laughing.


End file.
